


The Price of Fame

by oOAchilliaOo



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-03
Updated: 2019-04-03
Packaged: 2020-01-04 08:52:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18340304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oOAchilliaOo/pseuds/oOAchilliaOo
Summary: Cullen  had always known that  no good would come of  being made  to deal with the Orlesian court .  But he never imagined the price they'd have to pay , the  price he'd have to pay.





	The Price of Fame

The first few rays of dawn light streamed through the window. Both a reminder that he should head down to the training ring, and a much-needed source of light that made reading the paper he was holding far easier. 

“The Inquisitor dazzled at Halamshiral,” he read aloud with all due sarcasm, “demonstrating a wit, grace and charm rarely seen outside the Empire.” Beside him, gloriously bare, and nestled comfortably against his side, Evelyn snorted. “Her subtle handling of Grand Duchess Florianne de Chalons’ shocking betrayal reveals a keen player of the Game. This is perhaps not surprising when it is remembered that Lady Trevelyan is distantly related to House de Guise…” 

“Ah, of course.” Evelyn drawled. “Can’t possibly have an accomplished player of the Game that isn’t Orlesian.” 

“Of course not! Only true Orlesians possess the proper instinct for backstabbing and treachery.” 

She chuckled, the sound causing a pleasant heat to rise and bloom across his chest. It was perhaps foolish to feel such pride in being the cause of her laughter, yet it seemed he could not help it. 

“Do you despise the court so deeply?” she teased. 

He only grunted in response, turning his attention back to the ridiculous article, safe in the knowledge that Evelyn was well aware of the depths of his distaste for the court, and the reasons for it. 

“So,” she continued, shifting against him till she lay against his shoulder, her curls soft against his arm. “Which one is your favourite?” She scooped up three of the articles that lay littered across her bed, each depicting her ‘battle of wits’ against the duchess. So many such things had been published in the wake of the ball; many of them arriving in Skyhold even before they had returned. 

Gossip spread very quickly, it seemed. 

“Well,” he plucked the papers from her fingers and leafed through them, regarding them carefully. “In this one you look about three feet taller and,” he couldn’t help but laugh, “would that really have been an appropriate dress for skulking about the palace?” 

She chuckled, shoving him playfully in the shoulder 

“Of course it would, Commander,” she teased. “It’s just that you understand absolutely nothing about fashion!”

He laughed again, tossing the papers from the bed in order to gather her up in his arms. 

“You know,” he mused, brushing a few errant curls out of her face. “If you were to really ask me which my favourite was? I’d say it was the one right here, with me.”   
Her smile and the warmth in her eyes lightened his spirit more than anything else in the world. He could have stayed there forever, her warm, soft skin pressed tightly against his own, her arms entwined about his neck, tasting her lips over and over and over again…

And he probably would have, were it not for the fact that the sounds of his men practising in the ring were already floating up to her bedchambers. A stark reminder of his duty and the harsh truth that if he failed in it, her life could be at risk. 

“I should go,” he murmured against her lips. 

“Stay,” she breathed back. 

“I can’t.” 

He was grateful that she didn’t seem interested in truly arguing the point. If she had, it really wouldn’t have taken much to convince him to stay at least a little longer. Instead he left her dozing, the sunlight now pouring into her chambers as he scooped up his sword belt and descended the staircase to the great hall.   
Hopefully it was still early enough that the number of prying eyes in the hall was severely diminished. If he were really lucky, he might even be able to pass unnoticed from her tower door to Josephine’s office. Then, if asked he could always say he was in the war room. 

Unfortunately, he was halted the very second he emerged. He had barely been able to close the door behind him before he was cornered by Josephine, Leliana and Vivienne. All three staring at him with incredibly determined expressions. 

“Why does this feel like an ambush?” he said, really more to himself, but certainly loud enough for them to hear. His wary gaze flicked between the three women. 

“Because that’s precisely what it is, my dear,” Vivienne answered, utterly unabashed.

He raised a quizzical eyebrow, choosing not to answer or protest until he knew the specifics of their plans. 

“Don’t tell him that!” Josephine wailed. “He’ll never agree to it now!” 

Leliana chuckled, her amusement immediately sending alarm bells ringing in his head. One of Leliana’s true delights had always been torturing him and if Josephine was nervous, while Vivienne was determined and Leliana amused? Well. That signalled real danger. 

“Agree to what?” he asked, cautiously. 

“My dear, we need to discuss your attire,” Vivienne said, in that high-handed imperious tone that expected and would accept, no argument.   
“We do?” He was still not entirely sure where they were going with this. 

“Darling, of course we do. Really this rug you wear about your shoulders, while perfect for prowling around Skyhold, is hardly a befitting garment for the Orlesian court.” 

“I was under the impression that we were done dealing with the Orlesian court.” He was careful to keep his tone neutral, in an effort to disguise his distaste for the court to which all three of them had belonged at some point or another.

“Far from it, Commander,” Leliana drawled, in a tone that had been known to inspire dread in lesser men. 

“It seems you made quite an… impression at the winter palace,” Josephine stammered, somehow managing to look both determined and apologetic. 

“Believe me it was not intentional.” Sadly though, his comment was not quite quiet enough to be missed by Leliana, not quiet enough by far if the tilt of her head were any indication. 

“And yet you looked so handsome in your uniform,” she teased. “Standing stoically in the corner of the ballroom.” 

Only many years of teasing at the hands of his sisters, and his trainers and his Templar brothers prevented the blush from showing on his cheeks. 

“There was something you wanted?” he said with faint hope that it might bring them somewhat closer to whatever point they wanted to make. 

“Yes,” Josephine said, with a harsh glance at both Vivienne and Leliana. “There are a number in the court who have an interest in you, Commander. An interest that we can turn to the Inquisition’s advantage.” 

He didn’t have to think too hard about what form that ‘interest’ might take; those harpies at the ball had certainly made their desires clear. He had already received a handful of letters suggesting clandestine liaisons in some tavern or villa or other. 

All such letters, without exception, had been immediately consigned to the fireplace. 

“Honestly, my dear, it’s nothing too taxing,” Vivienne tutted “Attend a few salons, a few parties, look handsome and enjoy having the ladies fawn over you.”   
He repressed a shudder. Hands, so many hands, touching, squeezing. 

“No.” 

“Commander-”

“I said no.” 

With that he pushed past them. Forcefully. He was certain they’d run straight to Evelyn beg her to get him to reconsider. He wouldn’t, wouldn’t ever but he was fairly certain that Evelyn wouldn’t ask him to. She was more than aware of his distaste for this strange fascination that the Orlesians seemed to have with him and the reason for it. She wouldn’t feed him to the lions. 

At least, he hoped she wouldn’t. 

Maker, he wished they’d never gone to the bloody Winter Palace. The fame it had brought them would cause them nothing but trouble. 

He was certain of it.


End file.
